


More to Me

by bumbleflight



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, beware this is from 8th grade, lots of mental health stuff so here's your tw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25542532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bumbleflight/pseuds/bumbleflight
Summary: "It's my feng shui!" Bert defended himself, and Gerard poked the sandwich with the toe of his shoe."Is this part of your feng shui?" He asked.Bert nodded, reaching over to grab the sandwich. "It's the main feature."
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

Gerard didn't want to be here.

He didn't want to be in a new place, with a new house, in a new school.

He didn't want any of it.

But what choice did he have?

It's not like he could do anything about it. His father's death wasn't going to just disappear, and neither was his family's lack of money. Donna had to do something, even if that something meant leaving everything behind and moving to New Jersey. At least here she could find work.

No one had ever asked Gerard how he felt about this, but what was there to ask? He was seventeen—a senior in highschool—and society expected him to manage his own feelings. But how could he, when everything seemed fucking pointless and overwhelming? Maybe that's why he left halfway through third period—slipping past the front desk and out the back doors—to go smoke a cigarette.

His first day, and he was skipping. Just fucking great.

Gerard didn't care, though. He didn't want to stay and have to endure lunch, finding a place to sit, and facing other people. He just wanted to have a smoke; letting the hot air suck into his lungs, the nicotine soothing and warm.

Life was fucking terrible.

Taking a long drag, Gerard leaned back against the wall, letting the smoke fall from his lips as he exhaled. It drifted out slowly, and he blew out the rest in a sharp puff. Smoking was an art, but it didn't look as pretty in Jersey. To be honest, nothing was as pretty in Jersey. The sky was dark and smothering, and the buildings all loomed over you. He wanted to get out. 

He wanted to go home. 

"You know you can't smoke on school property, right?"

A voice broke into Gerard's thoughts, and he jumped a little. "Shit," he turned to face them, cautiously glancing at the girl who had spoken. Was she going to tell someone? Detention on his first day, Donna would be so mad.

The girl had dark hair with a thin face, wearing red platform boots that matched her brightly colored lipstick. She didn't seem like the rule-abiding type, but then again, who was Gerard to judge? Maybe all the straight-laced girls in Jersey wore red platform boots.

Then—to Gerard's surprise—she pulled out a lighter and pack, letting the stick hang loosely out of the corner of her mouth. "You must be new," she chewed on the cigarette, spitting out the end as she bit it off. Damn. "Where are you from?"

She seemed friendly, and Gerard decided not to be a dick and ignore her. "Um, New York."

"New York?" She cracked a smile. "I guess you sound a little different, but not like a New Yorker. Why'd you move to a place like Belleville?"

"My dad died," Gerard said quietly, looking away. The girl barely reacted, nodding like it had been nothing. "Rough. Life's wild, though." She took a long drag before saying, "I'm Lindsey Ballato. Who are you?"

"Gerard Way."

"Way," she paused to think for a moment. "You have a sister at this school, don't you? Mikey?"

"Brother," Gerard corrected her, and she furrowed her brows. "Brother? Hm, okay. Got it." Lindsey took another bite of her cigarette, which Gerard thought was really fucking weird. "Well, I have a sister. Lots of sisters, actually."

Lindsey then stomped out the remains of her chewed up cigarette, turning to face Gerard. "Want to come back to my place? I was skipping anyways, and someone's waiting in the car for us."

"Okay," Gerard agreed, following her back. Only a million things could go wrong from jumping in a stranger's car, but Gerard couldn't care less at this point. "Why did you come and talk to me if someone's waiting for you?"

"Waiting for us," she corrected. "And because we've been watching you all day. I mean, we weren't going to talk to you, but when Bert saw you out there smoking I couldn't just not go check it out."

"Why the fuck were you watching me?" Gerard stopped suddenly, but Lindsey waved him forward.

"Relax, I watch everyone! You were just different. Seemed different." She slowed as they reached the car. "It's not creepy, I promise." Gerard was skeptical at her words. It sounded pretty fucking creepy to him. "Get in!"

As Gerard stepped into the car, he was greeted by its slightly unkempt interior—soda cans and food wrappers—along with the slightly unkempt guy in it. 

"No fucking way," The guy said, turning to Lindsey in awe as he saw Gerard.

"Told you I could do it." She said smugly, cranking the ignition. "Bert, this is Gerard."

"Sick," Bert tilted his chin at Gerard, who shied a little. This was the dude who was watching him? "Um, hey." He didn't exactly look like someone who would hang out with Lindsey, wearing a pair of baggy jeans and a tight-fitting shirt.

"Tell me about yourself, Gerard," Bert said invitingly. "Usually Lindsey and I are the only ones who skip before lunch even starts, but I'm open to new comers. Why'd you skip?"

Gerard shrugged. "I don't really know," he admitted. "It's all so different here. I guess I just wanted a break."

"Where were you before? You don't seem like you're from around here." Bert confirmed, and Lindsey laughed. "I thought the same thing!"

"What gives me away?" Gerard was curious, and Lindsey shot him a grin as she pulled out of the parking lot. "For starters, you have red hair. Neon red hair, at that. And you're wearing skinny jeans."

"So?"

"Gerard, those jeans are a new level of skinny."

This made Gerard blush, and he hid his face by looking out the window. Yeah, he wore skinny jeans, big deal. They looked fucking cool. "Do you have something against my style choices?" Gerard raised his brow, to which Lindsey motioned towards her plaid skirt and red lipstick. "Do I look like someone who would have something against style choices?"

"No, I guess not," Gerard admitted, being thrown a little in his seat as Lindsey took a sharp turn, speeding through a red. Jesus, she was going to kill them all. 

"So, where are you from?" Bert asked again, and Gerard answered, "New York,"

"Got lots of chicks there?" Bert asked, and Lindsey took her arm off the wheel to elbow him. "Bert, shut up,"

"Maybe?" Gerard replied awkwardly, unsure of what to say as Bert grabbed his backpack for a shield—in case of a further attack. "Maybe?" Bert repeated, and this time Lindsey turned to him. "God, Bert, actually shut up."

"I'm just saying, he definitely is," Bert put his hands up in defense, and Lindsey rolled her eyes.

"I'm what?" Gerard asked, confused, and Lindsey tried to put her hand over Bert's mouth. "Bert, I swear if there is a God he will come down and–"

"A total gay," Bert managed to say before Lindsey whacked him. "Jesus, Bert! Did you not hear anything I said?" She then glanced at Gerard in the mirror, an exasperated expression on her face. "I'm sorry, Gerard, you'll have to forgive Bert. He's mildly retarded."

"Hey!" Bert gasped in mock offense, and Lindsey just shook her head. "It's not even a lie."

Gerard remained silent in the backseat, quietly warring with himself. He wasn't sure if he should say anything. Were people homophobic in Jersey? People didn't exactly hate him back home for being gay, but they didn't accept him either. He really wanted to start fresh here, where no one knew, but I guess that was ruined now.

"Yeah, I am," He said quickly, bracing himself in case Lindsey chose to throw him out of the car. She seemed tough enough to do it.

Gerard then corrected himself, thinking that if they didn't like him for being gay, then fuck them. He didn't want to spend time with people like that anyway, no matter how lonely he might be. Fuck friends, he didn't need them.

Bert then fist-pumped the air, whooping.

Gerard wasn't expecting that.

"I totally called it!" Bert punched Linsey back, and she muttered something like, "Don't punch the driver, dumbass," as she rummaged around in her bag for money. "Five bucks, please." He took it from her gleefully, and Gerard was dumbstruck in the backseat. Did they really just bet on him being gay?

"How the Hell did you know?" He tilted his head, and Bert grinned. "Oh, honey, anyone who wears jeans that tight can't be straight."

"I was really going for pan or something, but I guess I should have known," Lindsey shrugged.

"Doesn't it bother you?" Gerard was bewildered, not quite believing their reactions. No one had reacted like this back home. They'd all acted shocked when they found out, some had patted him on the back, others refused to touch him at all. He'd got different reactions, but no one had treated him the same after. But nothing like this, nothing so open.

"Not at all," Lindsey said, and Bert agreed, adding, "I'm ace, and Lindsey's a fucking lesbian."

"Excuse you, I'm more lesbian then you'll ever be!" She snorted, and Bert chuckled, "Um, sure?" muttering shooting Gerard a "How do I respond to that?" glance as he handed him his phone. On the screen was a photo of two girls, one with black hair, one with brown.

"That's Christina, Lindsey's fuck buddy. Aren't they cuuute," He teased, and Lindsey hit Bert for real this time, making him yelp in pain. "Lindsey!"

"She is not my fuck buddy! Sex isn't everything, Bert."

"You're telling me, an asexual, that sex isn't everything?" he scoffed, and she sighed, knowing he was right. The car stopped suddenly, and Gerard looked up to see an old townhouse with peeling paint in front of him. It was fucking scary, like every house in this place.

"C'mon, Gerard, if we're quick we can lock this bastard out," Lindsey leaped out of the car, grabbing Gerard's wrist as he opened the side door. "You can't lock me out of my own house, Lindsey," he called from behind them, taking his time as the two sprinted up the cobblestone steps to the building.

It was even scarier close-up, with faded shutters and foggy glass. There were pillars in front of it, and the porch swing was rotting and covered in dirt. The house looked as if no one had lived in it for years, and Gerard almost laughed as he wondered what his neighborhood committee back in New York would think of this. He could almost picture their faces, they'd probably die of a heart-attack within moments.

"Go, go, go," Lindsey pushed him inside, and Gerard stumbled over the last step into the house. The slam of the door was followed by the click of a key as Lindsey locked the front door. A moment later the door popped open, and Bert stepped inside, waving his keys. "Nice try."

"Aw, fuck," Lindsey sighed, following Bert as he turned into a hallway. Gerard followed hesitantly, shoving his hands deep in his pockets as he walked into what he presumed to be Bert's room. It was relatively big—with the bed as the main focus—and a couple of small windows on the side. 

It also looked like it had been hit by a tornado.

Clothes and bottles littered it, and Gerard picked his way around what appeared to be an ancient sandwich. "Bert, what the fuck?" He muttered, and Bert motioned for him to sit down next to him on the bed. Lindsey kicked off her shoes, amused by Gerard's face. "Lovely, isn't it?"

"Sorry?" Gerard glanced up.

"Bert's room. It's truly a masterpiece."

"It's my feng shui!" Bert defended himself, and Gerard poked the sandwich with the toe of his shoe. "Is this part of your feng shui?"

"It's the main feature." Bert nodded, reaching over to grab the sandwich. "Don't fucking eat that!" Lindsey cried, snatching it out of Bert's hands.

"Why?" He asked, looking hurt.

"Because it's covered in mold, Jesus! I'm pretty sure you'd be dead by now if it wasn't for me. Get some real food, would you?" Lindsey tossed the sandwich out the window, and Bert sighed. "Dammit, Lindsey, my neighbors are going to kill me."

"I'll be sure to thank them when they do." Lindsey quipped, and Bert sighed again, flopping down on the bed. "You know, I'm beginning to think I hate you."

"You didn't hate me yesterday when you gave me your fries." Lindsey pointed out, and Bert kicked her. "That's because you said you wouldn't drive me home otherwise!"

"Wait, does that mean you skipped yesterday too?" Gerard asked. 

"We skip every day," Lindsey responded, laying next to Bert and leaving Gerard awkwardly sitting on the edge of the bed by himself. "Don't your parents care?" Gerard was surprised, and Lindsey shrugged. "I'm one of seven girls. My parents don't care if one of their daughters a fuck-up, as long as the rest are fine."

"The people I live with work all the fucking time, so they have no clue that I skip," Bert added. "I was in foster care for fifteen years, so I'm free forever as soon I turn eighteen." He emphasized the word "free," as if it were something he'd thought about a lot.

"What about you, Gerard?" Lindsey wondered. "You and your brother, right?" 

Gerard fidgeted a little. "Um, it's just my mom and I—well, and my brother too, I guess—and she's really busy trying to support us all. I wanted to get a job to help her, but she thinks that school is more important so she'll probably be pretty mad if I keep skipping."

"Ah," Bert nodded. "Then you'd better not miss class tomorrow. Or you could cheat."

"No," Lindsey cut in, shoving Bert. "Don't do that, Gerard. Just go to your classes. Pay attention n' shit."

"I don't know if I can go," Gerard admitted, glancing down at his feet. "I can't focus, and I don't think—"

"Hey," Bert sat up, looking at Gerard. "Think about it this way, you're not doing it for yourself, you're doing it for her. She's working hard for you, so you need to study hard for her. It's the best way you can help her, dude."

Gerard considered this quite hypocritical coming from someone who apparently skipped class every day and had just told him to cheat, but he agreed nonetheless. "I just wish school wasn't so awful."

"But now you've got people to spend it with," Bert motioned at himself and Lindsey, making Gerard grin despite how stupid it was. "Yeah, I guess I do."


	2. Chapter 2

Frank Iero wished he didn't exist.

No, he wasn't suicidal, but he wasn't happy either. Sure, happy was a broad term, but there wasn't a better word for it. Frank didn't want to wake up every morning or go to sleep every night. He didn't want to deal with daily issues or dark thoughts. Everything was so confusing, and he wanted more than anything to simply disappear. 

This being said, Frank had never tried to kill himself. Even if he had, he wouldn't have made a mistake. He would have made it perfect; clean, precise, and accurate. Frank had given this quite a lot of thought, all for nothing of course, as he wasn't that type of person. But just because Frank didn't want to die, didn't mean he wanted to be alive.

What he really wanted to be was alone. Not just alone in his own house, but in life. He didn't want anyone's thoughts to be about him, or for him to linger in someone's life longer than a few moments. He wanted to be himself, with no one else there.

Frank knew that couldn't happen of course, but that didn't stop him from wishing. His mom seemed to know of his wishes and took it upon herself to cling to her son everyone moment of his waking life. "It's for the best, Frank." She would tell him whenever he complained. "We're doing this for you." 

He knew she was right, but some days it didn't feel like it. Nothing ever got better, and it was starting to get old. Frank took his pills—six in the morning, six at night—but after his father had left three years ago, the Iero's weren't exactly the richest family on the block. They weren't poor—Frank's mom still received a monthly pay-check from Mr. Iero—but they weren't exactly eating gold either. 

The day Frank's father had left was a bad day, but it sure as Hell wasn't the worst day of his life. He'd been told more times than he could count that it wasn't his fault, but those were are lies. Frank's knew his father really had tried his best, but one day he couldn't deal with it any longer. Frank didn't blame him.

Mr. Iero was married now, maybe had a few kids, but that's as much as Frank knew. The two hadn't spoken since the day he walked out—and although it might be a lie—Frank liked to say that it didn't bother him. Then again, nothing bothered him these days. He had himself to deal with, and it didn't leave much time for anything else.

Himself and his stupid fucking brain.

Frank had been to therapists, but they couldn't help him for shit. He gave them credit for trying, but nothing would ever amount to the help he needed. For them to truly help, he'd have to tell them more than he'd told anyone in his entire life, and Frank wasn't about to do that. Not to a fucking stranger who was paid to listen to him.

He'd considered opening up once, on an especially bad day where Frank had been using every ounce of self-control in his body to keep from screaming. It had been a rough few months, and he wondered what could really happen if he opened his mouth; spilling out everything he'd kept boxed up inside for years. . . But then immediately decided against it. He'd locked that box long ago—shoved it deep down and lost the key. No, he wouldn't talk. He wouldn't say a thing. No one would never know. No one could fix him, anyway.

He'd known this since the first therapy session when he was twelve—maybe even before. He wasn't like the other kids there, he couldn't block the thoughts that plagued him. Couldn't solve them. Post-pone them, sure, but not resolve. It was ingrained into Frank's brain as much as his will to breathe or eat. It had been there since the beginning, and it sure as Hell wasn't going away.

He couldn't fight the thoughts, but he could punish himself for having them. 

Frank's left arm was littered with tiny scars, not longer than an inch. It was clear they weren't from razors, but that didn't stop anyone from inquiring about Frank's self-harm. It wasn't anything really, just a thumbnail, over and over until the thought had faded from a flashing light to a dull gleam. Something to ease the pain, something to make him feel alive. Because although Frank wasn't dead, he didn't feel alive either.

It wasn't until one Tuesday morning when Frank realized this.

He was lying in bed, staring blankly at his ceiling fan as it spun in circles above him, and he knew he was going to die. Sure, we all died one day. But Frank wanted his to be just a little sooner. Why be alive when you can't live? 

Why bother, when everything you do is dictated and judged by one tiny number?

"Frank, are you awake?"

His mother Linda cracked open the door, poking her head inside. Frank was still in bed, staring at the ceiling. He moved his head slowly at her words, not looking over. The pills kept him from sleeping any longer than a few hours each night, but she didn't know that. She didn't know a lot of things.

"I made you breakfast, can you come downstairs?" She stepped inside, and Frank got out of bed, pulling on a shirt. "Yeah, one sec,"

Linda smiled, stepping out of the room as Frank made his way over to his bathroom. Glancing into the circle-shaped mirror, Frank took in his figure with much distaste. His hair was overgrown, falling into his eyes, and his face looked pale and tired. Running a comb through his hair did little to fix it, and Frank settled on just leaving it alone. Plus, he didn't have a comb anyway. All the counters in his room were wiped clean, minus one lamp by his bed. He wasn't sure why it was like that, but it just had to be that way. 

"Hi, honey," Linda said gently as Frank sat down at the table, watching as he took his brightly colored pills. Frank opened his mouth, facing his mom until she approved, convinced that he'd swallowed them. 

Although it had seemed weird to do when Linda has first requested it, now checking for swallowed pills was just habit for Frank every morning. He had never tried to not swallowing his pills, so he wasn't sure why she was so concerned. Linda was a worried person in general, which Frank could understand.

"I have to go to the doctor's office today." Linda said as the two began to eat. Well, as Linda began to eat. Frank was just pushing his eggs around with his fork, cutting them into smaller and smaller pieces. He didn't want eggs. "Why?" Frank asked, and she spoke quickly. "It's just a check-up."

"Can I stay home by myself?" Frank tried, and Linda shot him a surprised glance. "Frank, you know I can't let you do that."

"You could."

"Frank," She sounded tired, and he didn't press it. "Are you not hungry?" She asked after a moment, noticing his full plate. "I'm never hungry." He responded plainly, and she sighed. "You still need to eat."

Frank nodded, but didn't move. "Am I coming with you?"

"No," Linda bit he lip. "I asked the neighbors if you could stay with them, and they said it was fine. It's just for a few hours."

"The Bryars?" Frank wrinkled his nose. They were a nice family, but they were a little overly concerned about Frank. They had the right to be, but it always made Frank feel a little uncomfortable around them.

"Actually, we have a new family that moved in yesterday." Linda explained. "Two boys. One of them is your age, Frank."

"Don't they have school?" Frank asked. He didn't want to be alone with a stranger's mom for a day. "Yes, but one of them is sick or something."

"Great," Frank only half-joked, and Linda laughed. "Go put on some clothes, we're leaving soon."

After Frank had gotten fully dressed, he joined Linda in the car. The house wasn't too far away, only a few streets over. As they neared it, Frank shifted awkwardly in his seat. He didn't meet new people too often, and he was a little stressed. "Mom, does this family. . . Do they know about. . ?" Frank trailed off, and Linda finished for him. 

"Yes." She confirmed. "I told them this morning."

"Alright," Frank focused his eyes on his feet. He never knew how people would react to his OCD. Almost everyone would tell him about someone they knew with OCD once they found out, to which Frank would just smile but say nothing. What was he supposed to say, anyway? Oh, yeah, that's great that your uncle's nephew's hooker's goat's son and I share the same disease, thanks for letting me know.

Frank was dropped off on the street, and—despite his protests—was walked up to the door by his mother. He counted the steps on the way up, stopping after each sixth stair to restart. It's not that he wanted to, it's just how his brain worked. He did it without thought.

They rung the doorbell, and it was opened a moment later by a kind looking woman in her fifties, with light blonde hair and a stout figure. She was beaming brightly, and Frank balked a little as she pulled him into a tight hug. "You must be Frank!" She then turned to his mother, and gave her the same bone-crushing embrace. "And you must be Linda."

"Thank you so much again, Donna," Linda said, and Donna shushed her. "It's my pleasure." She assured Frank's mother, who then walked back to her car, leaving Frank alone, and quite scared.

"Uh, hi," Frank spoke, and Donna smiled. "Hello, it's so nice to meet you! My name's Donna Way." The woman lead Frank to what appeared to be a kitchen, but he couldn't tell through all the boxes. "Please ignore the mess, we just got here. Mikey's upstairs if you want to go talk to him. I'm sure he'd love the company."

"Isn't he sick?" Frank questioned as Donna took a sip from a mug of what Frank presumed to be coffee. If Mikey was sick then surely he wouldn't want Frank bothering him.

"Sick? No, no," She reassured him. "He just had some trouble today and left early. He's all better now."

"Oh, okay," Frank smiled gratefully before heading upstairs rather than endure more social interactions. He was surprised that she hadn't mentioned his OCD yet, it was the first thing most people brought up. Maybe she'd forgotten.

Or maybe this family's different, Frank considered the thought as he walked. All the doors in the Way's house were open, so it didn't take Frank long to find the one with Mikey inside. The boy was lying on his bed, rubbing his eyes and scrolling through his phone. Thankfully Mikey didn't have headphones on, so he was made aware of Frank's presence almost immediately, glancing up at the guy in his hallway.

"Hey!" He waved Frank in, a friendly expression on his face. Frank assumed Mikey was the brother who was closest to his age, as the boy didn't look to much younger than Frank himself. Mikey was quite different than Frank though, being quite tall and stick thin. "I'm Mikey," he introduced himself, although Frank already knew. Stepping into the boy's room, Frank noticed that–unlike the rest of the house—Mikey's room was completely unpacked. He'd settled in quite well, making it feel as if he'd lived there for years, rather than days.

"My name's Frank," Frank told him, stuffing his hands deep in his pockets to keep from fidgeting. He didn't want to show how nervous he was, but he was sure Mikey could tell anyway. It wasn't Mikey himself that was worrying Frank, but the prospect of new people in general.

A silence fell between the two, and Frank glanced around the room, his eyes settling on a Smashing Pumpkins poster. "You like the Pumpkins?" He asked, and Mikey's face lit up.

"Fuck, yeah!" He nodded, inviting Frank to look at a box as he pulled it out from a shelf. "I have every album."

Frank examined the box of records, flipping through a few stacks of bands until he came to one he recognized. "This record's the bomb," Frank motioned towards it, and Mikey agreed. "I can play every song on bass," He laughed, looking a little embarrasses. 

"That's sick," Frank smiled a little. "I play guitar."

"We should play together some time," Mikey nudged Frank, and he nodded shyly, knowing it was unlikely he'd ever see Mikey again. It wasn't very often that Frank left the house, and much rarer that he did so of his own accord. Maybe he'd make an exception for Mikey, though.

Then again, maybe not.


	3. Chapter 3

At three, Gerard had to leave Bert's house to pick up Mikey. Lindsey had driven him back to school so he could get his car and his brother, before she drove off again. 

He searched the school for a little while, but after not being able to find him, Gerard decided to give Mikey a call. His brother picked up after a few rings, his voice quiet on the other end of the line. "Hey, Gerard,"

"Mikey!" Gerard said into the phone. "Where are you?"

"I wasn't feeling good," Mikey answered. "Sorry, I should have texted you or something."

Gerard got back into his car at his words. "Yeah, whatever, it's fine," he said, starting the car. "Just let me know next time. See you at home," He hung up, and began to back slowly out of his parking spot.

It wasn't that Gerard was a bad driver, he was just cautious. There weren't too many opportunities to drive in New York City—he hadn't even owned a car back then—but an insurance bill was the last thing Donna needed on her plate right now.

The drive home wasn't too long but Gerard was still grateful when he finally reached his house. "Hey," He called as he entered, catching his mother, Donna's attention. 

"Gerard!" Donna cried, and he stiffly accepted her hug. "How was your first day of school? Were your classes fun? Are the kids nice?"

"Everything was great, ma," Gerard lied, faking a grin, and she hugged him again. "I made some friends." At least that part wasn't a complete lie. 

"Oh, I'm so glad, honey," Donna beamed, fixing Gerard's hair despite his protests. "Mikey had a pretty rough day, but he made a friend today, too."

Gerard began to ask what happened, but was cut off by Mikey's shout. "He's not my friend!" He corrected, and Donna sighed. "Okay, he met someone nice today. A boy his age. He lives down the street," She pointed in a direction, but Gerard wasn't paying attention. "I think you should go talk to him. You two would get along."

"I'm sure we would," Gerard affirmed, smiling as he slid by her quickly and made his way down the steps into the basement, where his room was. He'd picked the basement bedroom since it gave him the most space from anyone else in the house.

There was a general area when you first entered, and then a couple doors. One led to the laundry room, one to the outside, and the third was Gerard's room. Inside, he'd barely unpacked, boxes scattered haphazardly around the place. His bed lay to one side, the thin brown blankets drawn tightly across the mattress. His desk was in the corner, and his bathroom in another. A large pile of unsorted belongings were stacked up in the back of the room, almost touching the uneven, air vent adored ceiling. Overall, Gerard was satisfied with the room, but he missed his room back in New York, regardless. 

Jumping on his bed, Gerard pulled out his phone, reading over a few texts from Ray.

gerrrrarrrrrd come home

hows new jersey

is it shit

you better not be ignoring me because im so bored

He laughed a little at the messages. Just those few words made him miss his old home more than he'd like to admit, and he pulled out a pack of Oreos from under his bed as he responded.

yeah its sort of shit

Gerard paused, thinking of Lindsey and Bert, and decided to add on to his message.

but some people are nice. its still shit though. im eating away my feelings ha

His phone buzzed a moment later as Ray replied.

lol k

Gerard frowned at the briefness of the response, but brushed it off, convincing himself that Ray must have been doing something else at the time. He then went to check is Instagram, a photo of Ray popping up as the first thing in his feed. Ray was standing beside a couple of Gerard's old friends, all of them looking happy and smiling. I guess he wasn't that bored after all.

With a sigh, Gerard tossed his phone to the side. He wanted to go back home, to New York. He wanted to see his old friends, he wanted to go back to his old school, and he most definitely did not want to be stuck here.

Stuffing a few more Oreos in his mouth, Gerard rolled over, grabbing his sketchbook. He drew the first thing he could think of, which ended up being Lindsey. He included her boots and lipstick, making her hold a bass. He was pretty sure he remembered her mentioning the instrument while yelling at Bert about something or another, but he wasn't sure.

By the time Gerard finished, it was pretty much dark. He'd drawn straight through dinner, polishing off the pack of Oreos in the process. He was still upset, but not as much as he had been earlier. Walking upstairs, Gerard checked the closet for more snacks. Sure enough, it was empty.

Donna had refused to bring any food from New York, since the moving trucks charged by weight, and it's not like they had money to spare. This meant they had barely any food with them, and Gerard decided that he'd take a quick walk downtown to a convenience store and buy something. It was close enough that he didn't have to drive. Considering the factors of his driving skills plus the increasing darkness, walking was safer.

He chose not to tell Donna on the way out, as she would probably stop him from going, saying it was, "too dark" or that he was "going to be kidnapped." Gerard brought a sweatshirt and a couple bucks with him, locking the door on his way out.

After he stepped outside, Gerard realized that he had no fucking clue where he was going. He hadn't had a chance to drive around the city yet, and he barely knew his way to school. But there were 7-Elevens everywhere, surely if he just picked a direction and walked, he'd come across one, right?

Almost an hour passed before Gerard admitted defeat. He wasn't lost, he told himself. Just a little confused, location-wise. Gerard was on a sidewalk somewhere in his neighborhood, which was apparently way bigger than he had thought. To his right was a row of houses, some with their lights on, and to his left was a forest, with the faint gleam of a lake in the distance. He chose to continue on the sidewalk, keeping his head down and his feet moving. He'd left his phone, as well as his keys in the house.

Almost ten minutes into his desperate walk, Gerard heard a noise from the woods. At first, he ignored it, thinking that it was probably some dog. But then it came again, and Gerard stopped, recognizing the sound, as he'd heard it enough times himself. 

It was the sound of someone crying.

Normally Gerard would have ignored these kind of things, but he was lost—and it was dark—and if there was a person out there, maybe they could help him.

Heading towards the noise, Gerard felt a prickle of fear at the back of his neck. What the Hell was he doing? Walking into the woods in an unfamiliar neighborhood, he was going to get himself killed.

Gerard almost turned around right then, when he spotted something out of the corner of his eye. The person was sitting against a tree, knees pulled to their chest. Despite the darkness, Gerard could make out their figure. It was a boy, maybe a little younger than Gerard, and he was quite obviously sobbing his eyes out.

Gerard approached them quietly, not wanting to scare him away. After a few moments of his presence remaining unknown, Gerard spoke. "What are you doing here?"

The stranger jumped at his words, scrambling to his feet. "Uh, n-nothing," he stammered, taking a few steps back. "S-Sorry," His face shone with tears, and his clothes looked messy from sitting in the dirt. The boy had an unkempt appearance, with his jet black hair growing over in the front, but cut shorter on the sides. It looked odd, but in a nice way.

"Are you okay?" Gerard knew it was the wrong question, as it was apparent that they weren't, but he wasn't sure what else to ask. 

"Not really," The other boy chuckled, his throat still tight from crying. "I kind of assumed that was obvious, though."

"You're right, it was a dumb question." Gerard said, watching the boy as he sat back down at the base of the tree, facing away from him. "Do you want me to leave?" Gerard asked, and the boy shook his head a little.

"Only if you want to." His voice cracked as he spoke, but he smiled despite the downfall tears. "I don't get the chance to see to people very often, so I'll take what I get."

Gerard wondered what he meant. How do you not see people very often? "What about school?" He sat next to the boy, careful to give him lots of space. "Don't you see people there?"

"I don't go to school." He replied simply, leaving Gerard a little more than confused. Maybe he was homeschooled?

Gerard studied the black-haired boy. He didn't seem like he was homeschooled, but then again, you couldn't exactly tell just by looking at someone.

The two fell quiet, with Gerard feeling quite out of place. Was he supposed to help? Where did this guy live? 

"What's your name?" Gerard said, making the stranger flinch again. Either he was really fucking scared, or didn't talk to other humans, ever. 

The boy glanced over at Gerard with large, bright eyes, seeming self-conscious as he bit his lip. It was a little cute, but Gerard refused to admit it.

"I-It doesn't matter," he waved the question away. "Name's are pointless. No one remembers mine anyway, or if they do, it's not for something I want to be remembered for."

"Well, I'm Gerard," The two met eyes, and Gerard couldn't help but smiling. "And I wouldn't forget if you told me your name."

"Gerard," The smaller boy breathed, pondering this for a moment before smiling back. He wiped his cheeks with his sleeves before telling Gerard, "You have a really good name."

"Is that so?" Gerard chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "I don't know about that. I've always been told it's kind of unusual. Or that it sounds like Gerald. Or Jared." He laughed. "Maybe I'll change it to something shorter."

"Don't change it," The other boy said, and Gerard couldn't tell if he was being serious or not. Probably not. "Alright," Gerard agreed. "But if you're not going to tell me your name, I have the right to make one up for you."

The other boy smiled a little at this, making Gerard feel warm inside—which was fucking absurd, as he barely knew this kid he just met in the woods. "Okay," The boy nodded.

"How about," Gerard pretended to think, and the boy looked at him expectantly. "Tree."

"Tree?" The boy snorted, and Gerard laughed. "I was short on inspiration." He explained. "But personally I think it's a great name."

"Well, then you're fucking horrible at naming people," He replied, and Gerard hid his amusement behind his hand as the stranger added, "I pity your future children."

"Okay, okay," Gerard laughed. "What about Ash or something, because like, you're hair is black, and ashes are black?"

"Your creativity is mind-blowing," The other boy scoffed. "But sure, Ash."

"Are you going to tell me your actual name now?" Gerard tried again, but Ash never responded because his phone began to ring. "Gah, shit," He muttered, answering it quickly. The person on the other end seemed to be screaming something. They sounded furious.

"It's my mom," Ash mouthed to Gerard, turning back to the phone to answer. "I know, I'm so sorry, I know. I know," Ash repeated, over and over.

Gerard wondered why his mom was so upset, and thought of his own mom. She was probably worried about him too, but not like that.

"I have to go," Ash explained quickly as he turned off his phone, and began to walk away.

"Hey, wait," Gerard grabbed Ash's arm, stopping the boy. "Will I see you again?"

Ash smiled at this, his lips drawn tight over his mouth. He had a knowing expression on his face, and Gerard wasn't sure what it meant.

"Probably not."

And then Ash turned, walking off into the darkness, leaving Gerard just as alone and lost as he was before.


End file.
